Stillness of Heart
by Kawaii Chibi Megami
Summary: Halloween Gift to You All:: Summary: Dumbledore obtains a new spy and Auror against Voldemort. ::Vampires, Dark Arts, Romance::


Author's Notes: Okay, new ficlet in the works! Anyway, hope you enjoy! ^_^ And this is a gift to you all, in early celebration of Halloween! Vampires, dark arts, romance...oi! It'll be good, promise. Surely a scarce few spelling mistakes, but I swear they're only typing mistakes! I'm jus' a lil' tired -- too lazy, ya' see, to fix 'em.  
  
**whips out her broom from the closet and zooms off into the night sky**  
  
  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
  
  
HE TOUCHED her elbow, a compassionate gesture of underlaid agony.  
  
A vain attempt to return his compassion -- though scared out of her wits, she was -- resulted in a weak smile, and the forlorn drooping of her shoulders. The edging of his mouth tightened, revealing acute distress, and she knew he wanted to reach and embrace her, quell her suffering, but he could not, and did not.  
  
Lips parched, frame and stance shrunk by malnutrition, and willpower squandered due to relentless beatings, she shook her head only to fling locks astray. This chance, she grinned, strenuously raising her left hand and brushing her brow.  
  
A signal.  
  
She pivoted as swiftly and as cheerily as her predicament and state would sanction. Her mind burned, clicking, whirring, not unlike the hidden innerworkings of a well-lubricated machine.  
  
She glanced, lashes lowered, using the furthest corner of her eye, and saw the male's expression ease. He had noticed the surreptitious sign, after all.  
  
He knew.  
  
He appeared to be restraining joy, shifting anxiously from either foot, his head swiveling sideways to seek a flaw in her plan nervously. But there was no flaw. None whatsoever, and so they both understood this; it would work.  
  
She couldn't prevent, nor did she desire to, the relief she experienced crush her soul, envelope it, and finally catapult it towards the sky. For once in her pitiful existance, she had been frightened of death, the end; now the sheer terror was gone.  
  
The roughly crafted wooden planks of the steps creeked and groaned beneath her short ascent to the equally crude platform, sloppily 'cleaned' with a few splashes of dirty water obtained from the river. The stains of blood were everywhere, painting the platform scarlet, and its vile stench remained to permeate the air.  
  
She shuddered. Three guards shadowed her. A hefty, burly man, his garb black, fixated beady eyes dully on her through two cut, fringed holes in his cloth mask.  
  
The executioner.  
  
Her skin was pale -- too pale for a human. And her eyes, silvery- flourescent, were unmistakably preternatural. Such traits led townsfolk to suspicion, born of superstition, born of fear, born of absolute ignorance, even if the assertions imputed to her were not faulty.  
  
She moved (at the less than gentle shove from one of her 'escorts') to a contraption. Its metallic blade gleamed, sinister iron created for the sole purpose of killing. Pity they couldn't comprehend that Iron Maidens did not slice through all their unfortunate victims, let alone beings of the night.  
  
However, the threat still presented itself. As the frown marring her features melted to a steady, even countenance, she lowered her neck to fit awkwardly on the splintery wood of the Iron Maiden. The huge blade, hefted and released by a rope, was positioned motionlessly above her, where she could not see it. The ground greeted her.  
  
She saw her friend watching her amongst the jeering crowd. Chunks of rotten fruit and vegetables, stale bread and pebbles, were pelted at her. Some hit their target, some missed. The entire while, she kneeled in place cooly, oddly vulnerable yet untouchable.  
  
She heard a voice shout to the thronging sweep of people shrilly, cracked with fear and firmed with blatant loathing, "Citizens! Here me now! We gather to witness the demise of a most revolting creature, one who takes our children, one who kills for blood!" He spread his arms, fervently. "We must ensure the safety of our town, and be rid of these abominations!" He motioned to her, mouth twisted, disgusted. "This is the symbol of evil! We must be rid of it! We must be rid of it!"  
  
She suppressed a cringe. She wasn't what they assumed her to be. Well, she was what they said, but not as they had said it -- she didn't enjoy killing, she did it to survive. She didn't steal children in the night, and she wasn't evil. Perhaps the predator, a parasite of the worst kind, craving the putrid warmth of blood on her tongue, was evil, but not her.  
  
The man that had been shouting her crimes to the crowd fell silent, rolling up his scroll of parchment stiffly. He turned, nodded to the executioner, and she braced herself. Her eyes slid anew to her friend of six hundred years (and counting), and she cautioned not to hide the wry grin tracing her lips, nor the sparkling in her eyes.  
  
He smiled, the thrill of excitement like a flood of currents, rippling from his aura in waves. He mouthed something to her, 'Where are we going?'  
  
But she said nothing. All at once, she heard the swish of the blade descending, as if in unbearably slow-motion, the sound changed to a blaring screech because of its slothfulness. A part of her mind, aware of everything, leapt into action.  
  
She chanted; a low, ceremonious hum of words, her brow creased in concentration, and her hands bound behind her back. The chanting intensified, becoming louder, magnified by magic unknown to any mortal, until she wondered if the townsfolk gathered were going deaf.  
  
The blade was a the base of the back of her neck, cold and ferocous. Just as the cool metal contacted, she was gone in a burst of brilliance. So was a lone boy in the pulsating group of onlookers, the fading ghosts of their forms lingering where they had been.  
  
The town's people were initially baffled, left to scatter in an uproar of dreadful anger and dismay.  
  
The vampire had escaped her demise.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Spinning, whirling, through an interminable sea of white brume and befuddlement, they were. She felt a power so raw and puissant crash against them both (like waves, if you will), noticed the overly potent tingling in her spine, rococheting spirals of sensation from head to toe, and retreated inside herself to search for endurance. She seemed to grope blindly for strength for hours, days even, until finally she found a hand.  
  
She grasped it, tugging as hard as she was able. Pulling, reeling, she felt the tingling increase. It was bloody painful, and she absently surmised it would have torn the air from a mortal so quickly, they surely would not have survived to re-tell the tale.  
  
Her insides gave a wrenching lurch, and she screamed, continuing their perilous journey on, on into the white, all the while drawing comfort from this hand, though to whom it belonged to she knew not.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
The world slid into bleary focus, then complete focus, once out of the darkness of her subconscious. She would have opened her eyes, but was thoroughly shocked to register the tremendous sum of energy she had to amass to complete such a task.  
  
"Werg o'jeo uhd ti bor?" she attempted to ask, but managed to merely cough horribly. When the violent noises subsided enough, and her throat itched still afterward, she uprighted herself into a sitting position...  
  
...and, whimpering softly, fell backward to be consumed by the sea of pristine sheets. By now, she was somewhat capable of parting her lashes to survey the foreign place. A dead weight could be distinguished just at the end of the soft, king-style bed she had (obviously) been sleeping upon, causing the feathery mattress below to sink a tad. She cloudedly relished the bed -- a bed of much better quality than she was used to at the prison.  
  
The 'dead weight' was, she realized, another person. Such was the arrogance and proud hardness to the boy's chin and eyes, that she blinked; once, twice, thrice. He was the most beautiful specimen she had ever seen in her life!  
  
"Werg ny?" she said, the query directed to the male youth gazing at her dully, desiring to know where she currently resided. Then a notion filtered, ghost-like, past her thick skull, probing her hazy senses. "O'kope werg ne lisothe klilleah!" She flailed her arms wildly, emphasizing a point the stupid, yet gorgeous child was not acknowledging. "Rei ne patre tyihu!"  
  
Steadily, she was reacquiring more and more strength, she knew, like she had taken a broth of pure energy into her system.  
  
"Rei! Rei!"  
  
His golden main was slicked back, one elegant eyebrow ached sarcastically, disdainfully. He spoke, saying something or other -- she did not know this language, and so could not decipher even one word from the next. She had not, contrary to her friend's teasing, been born yesterday however; her longevity extended far enough to know the edged tone of haughty scorn.  
  
She practiced a glare malicious yet twistedly audacious, on a degree of brutality sufficient to freeze the most flaming of suns and melt the most glacial of icy fortress walls. She almost felt silly for glaring at him. Almost.  
  
She flung her legs over the side of the bed with a flagrant disregard for the second occupant, ignoring the deprivation of the bed's warmth, something to soothe her beating headache, and noted her bare legs, along with a strange robe. What's more, the alien robe was not wholly there; meaning, it had no backside to hide her rather chilly derriere.  
  
With a weak 'eep' she quickly decided she could pursue her missing friend at a later date, and squirmed, fumbling, to snap the sheets over her body once again, lest the boy should gain a glimpse of something she preferred him not to gain a glimpse of at all.  
  
The gorgeous one appeared to be highly amused with her. Something whispered it -- that he toyed with people every day, using them to stimulate his own cruel laughter, and no doubt at anyone else's expense.  
  
Another glare, but the second faltered. There was a new person entering the room.  
  
His beard a waterfall of white running the length of his front, and his hair an equally long, white waterfall at his back, he seemed more ancient than she. The twinkling of his eyes alerted her to a mischievous spirit, just behind half-moon spectacles perched neatly on the bridge of his old nose. He was honorable, wise, and...powerful, definitely.  
  
She could feel the buzz of wizard's magic about him, swirling, a long-since conjured storm of crackling thunder. She got the impression, unfortunately, that the lad beside her did not see what she saw in the elderly man, for while his lips were silent, stretched as a contorted sneer, his eyes burned a contained anger dangerously. She was offended that he should regard a senior with such rudeness. As far as she could surmise, he had no respect for anyone.  
  
The gorgeous one despised the man. For what reason or reasons, she was unaware. But she was aware of one thing, and acutely she might have added: the gorgeous one was a first-class horse's arse.  
  
The man said, almost in exact relation to her thoughts, "Diffi que korpe diellw, ty n'lov."  
  
She smiled, the words echoeing inside her head, 'He is a trouble-maker, that child.'  
  
She replied merrily, elated that someone other than herself spoke her language, "Bakh, bakh, ty twert n'lov! (Yes, yes, that insolent child!)"  
  
She had forgotten the boy until the man addressed him, conversing in the same unknown language the boy spoke. The boy sat there, and she actually speculated over why he would remain seated so near to her. If he had hated her, wouldn't he have moved away? She puzzled this until she felt the excess weight shift.  
  
Then the golden boy jerked, a violent leap from the bed. He was ready to throttle the man, and she had minor alarm bells rocking her already uneasy state. Something the man had said had made him furious, apparently.  
  
He bellowed something akin to, "It wuz that dam potters fawlt!"  
  
She was fairly positive he was blaming an incident on someone. The way his lips had curled in distaste, spitting the two syllables 'pot-er' as if they were poison, drove her to assume it was a person's name.  
  
She resented the idea of interrupting them, as it was pretty interesting to observe the mild drauma unfolding, but knew it would have been been ten times more interesting if she could understand the words exchanged.  
  
"Fui da ve'buenc hanh?"  
  
The wizard paused, eyes deeply set under furrowed brows for the briefest of instants, and nodded his consent. Abruptly, as if by, well, magic, a wand was curled delicately within his fingers, raised, poised to cast a spell...or a curse.  
  
He smiled, and the thunder storm he radiated crackled white-hot fire. Without hesistance, he murmered. The wazard's magic coursing throughout her centered against her forehead gently, kindly. And then she heard him say, "Better, now?"  
  
And she stuttered, "Y-yes." She hoped her gratitude could be seen in her eyes.  
  
Another nod. The wand was gone -- to where, she knew not -- and he stood straighter. The gorgeous one grumbled inaudibly. Inaudibly for any mortal, that is.  
  
She picked up the sentence as clear as a crystal bell.  
  
She repeated his words mentally, increduously, 'Foolish Potter, Weasley, Granger. I'll kill them all.'  
  
Was this mortal capable of murder? She would have asked this, but the wizard beat her to the opportunity of speaking. "You may call me Dumbledore, young one." The wizard -- now deemed Dumbledore -- really meant 'old one.' She knew this. How she knew, well, she didn't know, but she knew.  
  
He knew what she was. The thought, shockingly, did not disconcert her as greatly as it would and should have.  
  
Dumbledore was explaining, calmly, to the golden boy, "Draco,"--So his name was Draco, she mused, the name for a dragon--"it was just as equally Mr. Potter's, Miss Granger's, and Mr. Weasley's 'fault' as it was yours. That is why they have penalties and consequenses also."  
  
Draco sneered, "But why do I alone have to take care of her! Granger and Weasley and Potter get to take care of that other one together!"  
  
And they had Rei, too. Well, at least it sounded as if he was in good hands. Not to say he needed good hands, because he was more than worthy of taking complete care of himself.  
  
The elderly wizard had the hintings of the barest grin on his lips, and Usagi saw the mischievous twinkle she had noted earlier burst to effervescence. "Because," he said, "I thought you two would...hit it off, as they say in the muggle world."  
  
She was not getting the gist of the conversation in the slightest. She shrugged. The gorgeous one, however, certainly did not.  
  
"Her and I!" His eyes fixated themselves upon her scathingly. He snorted, scandalized. "Whatever, old man, I've got better things to deal with than sit here and let you play this foolishness of cupid!"  
  
It was like a device in her mind went: click, click, click. Strangely enough, she was sure she heard it.  
  
She laughed, howled forthrightly.  
  
This child! Ha! He may have been a beautiful creature, but she was tens of thousand of times older than he, and even if something of a sort of fondness blossomed between them, she knew she'd have to return to her home, someday. Plus, Dumbledore was merely joking, though she wasn't positive if the boy knew this or not.  
  
"So, you think this is funny?"  
  
She recognized the gorgeous one's face close to hers, maliciously warning, and concluded it best to refrain from answering, and perhaps even better to restrain the giggles tickling her throat.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She had been led this way and that.  
  
She had learned of where she was: A Wizarding and Witchcraft school called Hogwarts. She had learned, among other things, the date: 2000 years after her own time.  
  
She had cursed upon notification, and then relaxed. Possibly, her stay here would not be too bad. After all, she and Rei had been wanting to escape from their home -- where the townsfolk hated her and knew what she was -- for the span of a few months; she just had not expected their refuge to be a castle centuries into the future.  
  
Well, as mentioned, she had been led this way and that, by none other than the gorgeous one. Hogwarts' grounds were vast, but the interior...  
  
The interior was colossal, so extensive, indeed, that she had long-since lost count of the number of hallways they had walked, and staircases they had climbed, and portraits they had gone through, in the network of mazes. The sheer amount of turrets and towers, secret passageways and hidden rooms was overwhelming.  
  
She absorbed everything with idle fascination.  
  
The gorgeous one shot her obliquely a scowl. His annoyance was evident, distinguished by the way his hands gripped at his robes, and his voice, acidic in its contempt. "Don't think I'm going to 'baby-sit' you, as the old man assumes, girl. I've got concerning matters at hand," The way his lashes lowered derisively solidified the biting remark. "and you are not one of them."  
  
He threw in, just for good measure. "Girl."  
  
He was deliberately shaming her, feigning the stance of someone at a higher rank, as if she were a whimpering, weak child, defeatable and quite pathetic. She'd have to make a mockery of him sometime, wouldn't she? He didn't have the wits about him to perceive her as more than simply what the cover exposed.  
  
Usagi had the itch under her fingernails to claw his flesh, and unfortunately for him, abandoned that idea for an obliging leg, extended just so, and...  
  
"Oops!" she yelped, all sweetness. "Tripped, did you? Here, let me help you up!"  
  
If mortal, she would have stilled at the chill in his eyes -- eyes as silver as her own -- which obtained a jaggedness similiar to slivers of glass, sharp, abundant, glittering.  
  
He was less than pleased. No, that was an understatement; he was incensed, very.  
  
She remained undaunted. He batted away her offered hand, resuming his posture once on his feet. But he looked inclined and eager to throttle her neck to the point of blue tinging her pallid face. He smoothed his robes to a semblance order.  
  
She smiled, feigning innocence as he had feigned superiority previously. The only difference was that he really thought he was superior, and she knew that she was anything but innocent. "You know, you really should be more prudent. It's not proper to soil your robes like that."  
  
She honestly wondered if he would pounce.  
  
"Girl,"--Why did he insist on calling her that? She wasn't anymore a girl than he was an immortal--"you are a nuissance." His tone was velvety smooth, but nevertheless scoffing.  
  
After this, silence befell them the remainder of the journey to...wherever they were heading. Draco, the golden dragon, made quick, uncomplicated work of presenting her with the gaping black wound in the wall behind a peculiar portrait of an obese woman in a pink-silk dress.  
  
"W-what's in there?" she asked uncertainly, speaking the first words since she'd tripped him in the hallway. He glowered. Not at her, but at an unknown, unseen foe...or rival.  
  
He shrugged, then, trying and succeeded a nonchalant demeanor. "My main incentive, and the only good thing that comes of this, is now I know the Gryffindor password."  
  
"Gryffindor?"  
  
His eyes flashed, for a fleeting period, in mild disdain and irritation. "It's a House name." And he didn't supply anything more.  
  
He literally shoved her inside, perhaps as pay-back for tripping him, and she stumbled forward, reeling a little as she endeavored to maintain her balance. Vampires were some of the swiftest, most graceful creatures, yet she had been caught unguarded.  
  
Indeed, even as she whirled round to face him, his eyes danced, seemingly taunting, 'Tit for tat.'  
  
She could have thrown him, causing him to go through a wall...heck! She could've blown him to the ends of the earth, employing even a fragile breath. But she didn't want to do any of the afore mentioned.  
  
She busied herself loosening the tight buns atop her head on either side, and then, not looking at him, she let the pale strands, easily longer than herself, topple, unkempt, to drag the red-carpeted floor.  
  
A fire crackled merrily to the side. A stiarcase winded in a spiral up to a second floor.  
  
Her vivacious golden dragon was, she noted, peering at the contents of the room, as if he'd been expecting something grander. He couldn't have appeared any further smug. He murmered eventually, "And I'd thought the whimpy trio would have had a better common room."  
  
"Hmph," he made a dismissing noise. His eyes couldn't deny her an overlook, thought, at her new now unbound mane.  
  
Even he would admit to himself her unnatural beauty. But that didn't mean he'd let her know he had admitted it.  
  
"The old man said you'd stay in here until this evening, when you'll be...sorted."  
  
She was again offended that he'd refer to the kind elderly wizard as 'old man.' She would've questioned him on what being 'sorted' was, but he seemed particularly determined to exit the place, as he was already out the portrait-hole, the portrait swinging closed in his wake.  
  
She smirked -- in a way vampires sometimes do; that sort of abstruse puckering of the lips, and twisting upward of one corner of the mouth, ever so minimally.  
  
If all the people she should encounter on her stay were as entertaining as her golden dragon, she'd have a dandy time.  
  
A dandy time, indeed.  
  
She approached the subject of her elusive friend; he was more than liable to be avoiding her, exploring the castle, securing new friends with his continuously amiable and happy-go-lucky disposition.  
  
Not that she minded. But she wished that he'd take the responsibility of locating her and discussing the matter of their whereabouts soon.  
  
Her brand new school robes swaying as she walked leisurely to the upstairs rooms, she was anxious -- and looking forward to this 'Sorting Ceremony' -- but content to wait. Patience was a virtue, or to her, anyway.  
  
Now, to find a nice room and a warm bed to nap on, eh?  
  
  
  
END PROLOGUE  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: So...liked it? No? Yes? Tell me! Oh! And Rei, Usagi's friend, is Zero from Megami Kouhosei, in case you were won'drin', or just unaware.  
  
AND, I'm thirteen! I'm not an English super-genius! Please don't be offended, all you great, wonderful authors, if I had incorrect grammar, or if there was an odd turn of phrase here or there. I'm doing what I can!  
  
^_^ ^_^ ^_^ 


End file.
